Returning to the Fae
The dragons first came to me August of 2024, and their call was fierce and deep. My world reoriented around connecting with them in any way I could, and I spent much of my waking life and dream time considering their medicine and their mission. One day, I decided to enter the realms and search for them there, but to my disappointment, it was not the dragons I found, but the Faeries. What a thing to be disappointed by meeting Faeries! That is how deep my dragon longing ached.
But the message from the Faeries was a beautiful one—I was told that the Fae will forever have my back, that they are lifelong allies because of how good to them I was as a child. And it’s true! I would spend countless hours in the forest singing to them and tucking little cookies and candies in the trees for them to find. But as I grew up, I also grew out of such fanciful activities, and our once vibrant connection became quiet and dim.
A few months ago, a dear friend of mine made me a proposition that filled my heart with sparkles—she asked me if I wanted to build a fairy house together. Every week at market, as our booths are right next to each other, we’d talk about it, discuss our materials, and invariably end the conversation with, “we’ll do it eventually, maybe next week.” After a few months of talk, we finally pencilled it into our busy adult schedules. The following week, we drove up to Koke’e, a National Park on Kaua’i filled with Ohi’a trees and rainbows streaming across jagged canyon walls, with the mission of building a fairy house.
We brought tiny treasures from land and sea, things that we’d been collecting for years for this exact purpose. The whole afternoon was both whimsical, and very serious. We both know the importance of doing right by the Fae!
I am sharing this with you because it was possibly the most nourishing afternoon I’ve had in months. Linear time stopped. Adulting stopped. Technology stopped. The spinning world around me of cars and getting places stopped. All that mattered was that the teeny tiny pieces of beach wood were placed together with the utmost delicacy so as to provide the fairy enough privacy, without knocking her house down and having to rebuild. All that mattered was finding the perfect piece of moss on the ground to fill the gaps in her roof, without having to remove it from where it was growing. All that mattered was that surrounding the rock and root crevasse that she chose for her home were fallen bright and pale pink flowers, with which to border her pathway of sand and sprinkles. All that mattered was that her floor tiled with minuscule pieces of beach glass was smooth and even.
It’s important for us to create pockets of time and space where the teeniest, tiniest, sweetest little things get to matter a whole lot, and the big, heavy-pressure, high-stakes life-ing things get to matter a whole lot less. I encourage, nay, I implore you to create that pocket for yourself, however that may look. Feed the part of you that just wants to let all the big stuff melt away, and let play be the most important thing in the world. Just for a bit.
And if in doing so you can give a little nod to the faeries, know that they will sprinkle you with their faery dust, and magic will surely come your way.
